


Five Times Mercy Didn't Cry

by xDomino009x



Series: Tears in the Spider's Web [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Affairs, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Depression, F/F, Funeral, Graphic Description, Guilt, Murder, They're all mine, War, did I mention the angst?, drug mention, many tears, maybe some more angst, not Mercy's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-24 15:50:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7514191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDomino009x/pseuds/xDomino009x
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Though her life, Angela Zeigler has had a lot to cry about. She likes to think she's too strong to cry, but she knows her tears don't make her weak. Really she's just proud and scared and somewhat detached. There are some moments when she thinks her tears won't say enough, and so she won't waste them on those moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, putting Mercy through this will be emotional for me, especially as there is a second part coming once I've brushed up the next chapters - all about the one time she did cry.  
> Hopefully this will be finished within the week, but no promises :3
> 
> Other than that... I hope you enjoy this, even if it might be hard

The streets of Geneva had never seemed so full of black and grey and scarlet. The rubble lay in pools of blood, on top of crushed and burned bodies - both human and omnic. Angela had seen the omnic every day; her whole life. She knew people judged them for being machines and not human, the same as humans still judged each other for the colour of their skin. She was a bright young girl - her teachers had told her so - but she had never imagined she would see her home littered with their bodies, and so many other people. It was so easy to blame the omnics.

They were just machines, tools as well as people. And killers.

And now she was alone because of them, with her face smeared with the same colours that she could see staining the city around her. Her pale cheeks were coloured with streaks of blood and dirt and dust instead of her mother’s blusher. It was in her hair and in her mouth, crunching between her teeth until she spat the earthy taste away with a mouthful of blood. She hadn’t realised the inside of her lip was bleeding that much.

When she tried to wipe the filth away she only pushed it over her skin more, covering her eyelids in it leaving smear marks over her forehead. The smell of it got up her nose, it stuck at the back of her throat and made her gag until she felt like vomiting

Her voice was hoarse as she called out, desperately, and she could hardly hear it herself over the dull ringing in her ears as more explosions went off in the distance. Horrified, she watched as more plumes of charcoal smoke towered up into the sky, writhing like serpents. They blocked out the sunlight that tried to reach the shadow-strewn streets of the city. It was unfair that the sun could still shine when so many lights had been snuffed out. Like it was mocking them.

Finding the strength to begin walking, she shouted again. “Mama!” She choked as she spoke, trying to ignore the sharp pain in her chest as she did. “Papa!” Her steps seemed to echo as she moved and she hoped it was only her imagination that made the walls move like they were alive.

She wandered the streets for hours. It was turning to evening by the time she actually found another living person and by that time she no longer remembered where her starting point had been. The woman was covered in dirt like Angela, and covered in blood - both hers and other peoples’ probably, judging by how much she was covered in. Angela barely registered the amount of blood, but she did think the woman smelled bad, like back alley streets and the air outside a bar on a Friday night.

But scared and lost, Angela did not care. She had found someone else, another human, and for a while at least she knew she wouldn't be alone.

The stranger didn't talk at all, just wheezed and coughed up blood. The weight of the debris pressed down hard on her ribs, squeezing the air from her lungs and making it hard to bring more back in. Once, Angela tried to help her, but her child’s hands were too weak and the woman just groaned as she tried to free herself from under the concrete. Angele didn't touch her again after that..

Angela wanted to cry but she couldn't. Her eyes stung from the grit and the smoke, her lungs were sore too. Crying would lead to coughing and a tightness in her throat, when her throat was already too tight and she could hardly talk through her choking and chest pains. Forget talking, after so long without drinking it was getting hard to think straight.

It took until night time for the woman to die from her injuries, the lack of blood or air getting the better of her. Or a lack of hope. Angela didn't know how to help, if she even could help, so there was nothing she could do but watch as the life drained from the dying woman’s eyes. It felt like her duty to stay with the body until it grew cold, which didn't take long in the middle of winter. She didn't know why she had stayed with the corpse, but maybe she didn't need a reason.

As soon as she managed to pick herself back up she started moving again. She didn't know how long it took her to find anything besides broken buildings and machinery. Ten minutes, an hour? A body, facedown in the middle of a ruined street, stopped her in her tracks.

The arms that embraced her were the first she knew of another living being in the streets with her. Hurried French flooded her ears and she gasped, shocked and relieved, holding onto the arm around her chest for dear life. If she let go she might be lost again.

And then the shooting started.

From in front of her, behind her and both sides. All around her bullets flew and hit their marks. Humans and omnics fell to the ground. With her eyes shut tight all Angela could do was listen to the gurgled shouts of the gunners as they died, the mechanical screaming of the omnics as rounds tore through their circuits. And those arms fell limp around her. It took a while for Angela to open her eyes once the noise had ended.

“Be strong, my sweet angel,” she heard in her mother’s voice.

And then other, rougher hands were dragging her away as she screamed, forgetting the ache in her chest as it was replaced by an ache in her heart. Her kicking and writhing proved just as useless as her frantic cries for her mother.

When she fell silent it wasn't because she had given up fighting. Her throat felt shredded, torn up like misused sand paper. Her ribs rattled with every breath she took. Her mouth formed words but they were noiseless now.

The soldiers had carried her away from the body on the ground before asking her who she was. _Angela Zeigler._  And how old she was. _7_ . And where her parent were. _Gone._ That was the hardest question to answer.

The medical teams were only concerned with the living. Their needles in her arms provided her with fluids, they forced her to eat until they were satisfied. Two weeks they kept her in that beige tent on the outskirts of town. During those weeks she overheard horror stories from the soldiers and rumours of heroes coming to save the day.

Two days before she was moved from the small encampment a young soldier in a blue trench coat came to her with a necklace. The chain was broken, the hinge for the locket was jammed slightly open. But the charred picture could be seen inside it. Angela stared at her own face, her name engraved on the inside of the lid, as well as her date of birth. Her mother had worn it every day since she was born. He told her it had been found inside a dead woman’s hand.

She had made a decision that day - she didn’t believe in heroes.


	2. Chapter 2

11:00 sharp.

His body was lowered slowly into the ground and the graveyard rang with the sound of the 21 gun salute. Seven of the deceased’s closest friends and comrades lined up along the graveside, rifles held in their hands. Their first shot drove birds from the leafless trees as it broke the solemn silence and made Angela jump in her seat. She had never liked the sound of gunfire. The second made her wince and echoed around the stillness. The third didn't affect her at all, she sat with her eyes closed and wished she had been able to do something.

Gérard Lacroix had been a good man: honourable, loyal, dependable. And now he was dead. They all knew what the incident report had said, where the evidence had led the agents investigating his death, his murder.

He had been found in his bed, in a smart black suit he’d only ever worn to official meetings. Dark marks had been left around his neck by the thick wire from the bedside lamp, used by his assailant as an improvised garotte. He had been rendered unconscious before being strangled, ketamine being found in the bottom of a knocked over wine glass left in his and his wife’s apartment. And his wife was nowhere to be found.

Amélie had only been back for two weeks, only one of which she had spent with her husband. The first week she had been held for observation by Angela in the infirmary. The doctor had been asked to come from Switzerland to France just to look after the high profile patient and Angela, knowing Amélie, had agreed at once.

And then she’d let her go, when the blood tests and psych evaluations hadn't shown anything out of the ordinary. It had been a mistake to let the woman out of her sight.

She’d known something was wrong with her. The two women had known each other for years now. She considered Amélie to be one of her few close friends, maybe thought of her as something more, and she’d still failed her. She’d failed Gérard. Now they were both gone, Gérard in the ground and Amélie probably back with Talon.

At least Gérard had been out cold, but it was little comfort.

The funeral had already been filled with so many tears, none of them Angela’s. After the salute the members of Overwatch had taken it in turn to drop a handful of soil over the coffin. Angela’s hands were shaking as she let the dirt crumble between her fingers. The roses they had left on top of the wooden box had been almost obscured by the earth now.

“You alright Angie?” Angela hadn't even noticed the hand on her shoulder until McCree spoke to her. Jesse’s eyes were bloodshot and watery, with dark bags beneath them. Angela’s first thought was to prescribe him something to help him sleep when they were done here, but maybe the best cure for his current insomnia would have been for her to do better at keeping Gérard’s killer locked up in a hospital ward.

Angela wanted desperately to say yes, she was fine and she’d learned a lesson and would do better next time. But she wasn't fine, and she doubted there would ever be a next time, Gérard was not some failed lab experiment she’d be able to redo with the right funding.

No one here was fine with what had happened. And so she was honest, with McCree at least.

In a hushed voice she laid her emotions bare to him. He listened to her regrets, her sorrows, her _I should have done better_ and _This is my fault_. He listened in silence and he nodded with each breath she took.

Even though she wasnt crying he held her tight once she had fallen silent, until she stopped gasping for breath and just stood in his arms. It would be so easy to cry her sadness away. She felt the metal of his left hand brushing through her hair as he muttered soothing words to her, his low drawl soft in her ear.

Despite herself she grinned into his shoulder at the familiar comfort.

At the back of the gathering Jack Morrison stood alone, saying nothing to anyone and keeping his head respectfully lowered. It was never pleasant to bury a comrade, but Gérard had also been one of his friends. Jack was like Angela in that respect - they kept most relationships professional and had little time for friendships. Once she had thought it was so she could work without interruption but now she wasn’t sure if it was simply to minimise the chances of failure.

It was surprising that Gabriel wasn't also here, although the tension between the two soldiers may have convinced him to keep his distance, even from a funeral for a friend. The commander of Blackwatch would most likely visit the grave later, alone. Maybe Angela would wait for him here, it had been too long since they’d spoke. And tragedy had an odd way of bringing people together.

As strike commander, she supposed Jack had an obligation to be here. He had been leading Overwatch for almost twenty years by now, and it was starting to show in the lines of his face and the grey in his hair. He and Reinhardt both shared that, and neither of them had agreed with her when she’d told them, medically speaking, they should start slowing down the pace soon. They were both soldiers, neither would throw down their weapons just because their doctor recommended it to them.

Angela hoped the death of a comrade at least served to remind them what was important. But all it did was remind her of her latest mistake.

This would keep her awake at night and she was already beginning to doubt herself. Why hadn't she been able to see anything wrong with Amélie, besides the obvious dehydration and anxiety? She was a world class doctor, had made several breakthroughs in her areas of expertise - surely that had to count for something. But if she couldn't help one woman what was it all worth really?

Angela took her seat again while the other’s stood around the grave, heads lowered as the prayers washed over them. She wasn't sure how much it meant to her anymore - half her job was playing god, messing with people's’ lives.

She decided who lived and who died, like the valkyries she’d named her suit after. It was still fitting. Her error had led to Gérard’s death, discharging amélie had been her decision.

It was suddenly her time to speak about the dead. Her heart skipped a painful beat, then hammered double time behind her ribs. Each step to the podium her legs felt leaden. It was the same routine as she’d been through before, a speech filled with lines about how _He was a good man_ and _The world is lesser for his loss_ and _We will all miss him_.

It was all true but that wasn't the point. He deserved better than the over prepared words she let fall from her lips without thinking. But she didn't want to think.

Bowing her head she screwed up her eyes, begging the tears not to fall while she was standing in front of all these people. They didn't know what she knew, that she didn't get to cry for him like they did. They would understand, tell her it was alright but they didn’t know.

She didn't deserve to cry at Gérard’s funeral when she had been sneaking around with his wife.


	3. Chapter 3

“You seen the news Angie?” McCree asked as he came to stand behind her, the answer evident. She and Jesse had become much closer recently. Some might say they had grown too close, but they both knew their relationship was platonic, nothing more than friendship.

He stood with his hands on her shoulders as she watched the flashing images. The metal of his hand was slightly cool through her thin clothing. It kept her grounded while the smoke and debris on the screen glared at her from a dozen different angles. It was all that remained of the Swiss Overwatch Headquarters.

Of course she had seen the news.

She had been seeing it on a loop for the last few hours, the destruction of the Overwatch building being broadcast over the evening channels for the whole world to see. Adults and children in all corners of the globe would be watching this, wondering if their heroes at least had survived the blast that had totalled the facility. Angela knew some of them hadn't, and soon, when that news broke, she knew the world would mourn their loss.

Jack Morrison and Gabriel Reyes had been killed in the explosion. It was uncommon knowledge that they had also been the ones to trigger it. Even a few hours after the crisis the information had spread through the upper ranks of Overwatch. Their agents had hit the ground before the news crews had arrived, to investigate and search for eyewitnesses and survivors.

The infighting between the two soldiers, which ended up being between Blackwatch and Overwatch, had been inevitable. She had just wished they could have settled their differences and their grudges without it being this publicised. But the news stations couldn't help but pick up on this story: ‘ **Overwatch, the heroes, ruin themselves’**.

It made her feel sick, and Angela quickly switched off the TV, dropping the remote back onto the arm of her chair. It was her favourite seat in the place and overly plush, but suddenly she couldn't get comfortable in it.

“How did this happen, Jesse?” she asked, already knowing the answer. But she needed someone to say it so she could stop believing it was all in her mind. That sort of thinking wouldn't help anyone, and it wasn't healthy. McCree shrugged and sat himself down on the arm of her chair, not taking note of her scowl as he did. _It had always been coming_ he told her _We knew that._ And he was right, they had known that for a long time.

And still they’d been powerless to stop it. What good was being a ‘hero’ if they couldn’t save their friends.

With a sigh Angela hung her head back and brought her fingers against her temples, massaging the pressure points with an efficiency she had trained to achieve. She had a headache, and on top of the disaster in Zurich she’d already received a call from the UN requesting that Mercy make an appearance at a conference in Switzerland.

No doubt they were holding it there to make a point, but it was her home. Angela had seen her fair share of horror in that country. Still, it was where she belonged.

Part of her resented that they had called her Mercy, another way to make her feel responsible for what had happened she supposed. Mercy was her codename, and so she was linked to Overwatch and the two who had been killed. The implications were clear, and she would make sure no one got the blame but the people involved. It was cruel, planning to speak ill of the dead.

But Jack would hate to think he’d caused the persecution of his comrades. And Gabriel… well, he’d been half dead for a long time. Angela had seen to that. Another in a long line of mistakes.

Angela had already packed her things, already written out the cards for her arguments. She knew what had happened, knew so many others in Overwatch would be loath to lay the blame on the shoulders of a man they had looked up to. But Angela had fixed those shoulders and many other bones and organs a hundred times - if anyone could do it with a clear conscience she could. She wasn’t sure she should. But she’d do it.

McCree turned the TV back on with an apologetic look and then sat in silence with her for the next few hours. Angela understood that he needed to see it again and again before it would sink in.

They watched the news feeds, in different languages, depicting the explosion as some sort of freak accident. They asked how it could have happened, how something that could cause this much devastation could slip under the radar and go unchecked.

They both scowled and grit their teeth as the head of the UN came onto the TV screen, blaming the explosion on Overwatch’s negligence and commenting that _maybe the time of heroes is coming to an end_.

Jesse looked as though he had been crying again, Angela noted as she turned to look at him. He had his hat off for once, his hair sticking up and making the most of it's probably short lived freedom. It needed washing, but not badly, just enough for her to notice. He still wasn't looking after himself.

And catching sight of her own appearance - loose tracksuit jacket and ripped jeans - she realised she still wasn't taking the best care of herself either. Those jeans hadn't been ripped when she brought them, when did that happen?

Angela found it hard to cry for the two friends she had lost not even a day ago.

She wanted to, she knew she should, but for now she couldn't find the tears. They were dead. Blown into pieces and if anything was found of them it would be body parts she identified through their DNA in blood and tissue samples. Other than that they were gone. Angela knew that and yet she could only find anger seething in the pit of her stomach.

They had been foolish. They had been reckless. They had let their hatred for one another fester until it infected the whole of their organisation. Now, with the guilty lying dead in some crater it was left to the ones who had done nothing, who could have done nothing, to pick up the pieces. Looking at the broken statue on the TV it seemed like some pieces wouldn't be picked up, just towed away and forgotten about.

A taxi would be at the apartments to pick her up soon, take her to the airport where she would get on the next flight to Zurich. She imagined she would see the smoke and the hole where her native Headquarters had once stood from the air.

Gathering some of her belongings from the table - a notebook and a few pens, her mobile and a half empty tube of mints - she stood up and began pacing, shoving the items into her pockets as she went. When she arrived in Zurich she would buy herself some nicer clothes for her meeting. She had the money, not that it really mattered. It wasn’t like money could change anything.

The news repeated itself but by now it was background noise and Angela could ignore it. Jack and Gabriel had been stupid and selfish and -

The glass hit the wall on the other side of the room. She hadn't even realised she’d picked it up, but the shattered remnants proved she had. Jesse was watching her cautiously. He had seen her angry on a few rare occasions, and the outcome had never been pretty.

Angela refused to cry for the dead until she knew what would happen to the living.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been coming for a long time now, but that didn't mean she was prepared for it. Over the last year, Overwatch had been on a knife’s edge, hanging in the balance with justice on one side and necessity on the other. For a time, keeping Overwatch strong and prominent had been an obvious priority - the United Nations couldn't be seen to have created, nurtured and supported an organisation that didn't merit its continuity.

But the public eye had been fixed right on them the whole time, waiting for excuses to lay blame and pointed criticisms. In the end the UN had found their perfect reason in the human rights breaches and negligence claims the people of the world imagined, handed to them on a silver platter.

Angela had hated looking back on the building for the last time as the taxi had pulled out of the driveway, but even she was unsure how many of the allegations against Overwatch were true. She couldn't trust them anymore, no matter how much she wanted to.

She wasn't sure she should, when the rest of the world was telling her it shouldn't.

It was still very painful though as she waved goodbye, maybe for the last time, to the friends who had become her new family. To Lena and Reinhardt, Winston and Torbjorn among others. Even her assistants from the medical departments. She had known them for years and saying farewell in the doorway of a secure facility wasn't how she’d imagined leaving them behind. She’d planned to fight with them till the grey in her hair or a bullet in the chest forced her to leave. With how the last few years had been, it was unlikely her hair would have reached grey.

But now, she might get to reach her thirties, maybe even her forties, in some kind of peace - an odd thought considering all she had been through. The alias of Mercy had kept her real name out of the public eye as much as was possible, but it wouldn't be long before someone put the name to her face even if she kept herself hidden away. Tinted windows could only do so much.

The yellow taxi she was being taken away in didn't even have tinted windows; instead she had drawn a blue scarf up over her head as they drove through the overcrowded streets towards the New York airport. She was going home, to Switzerland, where she had been asked by the Swiss UN official to take up her practice once more as a world class doctor and surgeon. She supposed, if she couldn’t save people in the field she may as well work in an operating theatre again.

But being a field medic held much more of a rush. It was a high she had become accustomed to. She was unsure how long life as a surgeon could keep her challenged. The best part of being in Overwatch, besides the lives she had saved, had been the way they had pushed her to be her best.

Almost anyone could be a surgeon, no one else could fly from injured soldier to civilian and bring light into the darkness like she could. Like she had for years.

In the taxi with her sat the Swiss member of the United Nations, his hands folded neatly in his lap. Angela had so far said little more than three words to him. Despite the fact that it would probably be an hour long drive in the usual traffic, and then many more hours by plane, she didn't plan to say many more.

Before this had all started he had promised her that he would be an advocate for Overwatch if she cooperated and told them what they needed to know. So she had. She’d spilled secrets, despite her instincts telling her not to, that she’d kept for months, years even, and for what?

For the UN to turn around and throw it all back in their faces with riots in the streets and protests that marked the downfall of the once heroic organisation?

As far as the civilians they’d spent their lives fighting to protect knew Overwatch had just gone rogue. Accusations and theories abound as to why the UN were suddenly shutting down one of their most successful initiatives, none of them good. Even the memory of what Overwatch had been was now smeared with innocent blood. She wondered if that was enough to make the politicians happy.

As a victim of their choice, Angela found herself mourning in the back of a cheap cab, head lowered to avoid looking out any of the windows, pretending she was very interested in an article in an old newspaper. She had read the first line over and over, but it didn't matter. Mr John Bishop in London could keep doing whatever had made him so noteworthy, it wasn't important.

She was surprised that so far she hadn't seen any reports on the disbanding of Overwatch. She supposed though, that the UN wanted to keep it all under wraps and vet whatever was to be published. But the internet was wild with the story even if the papers weren't.

It was something of a minor victory that the reports seemed to be split on whether Overwatch’s outlawing was a blessing or a curse, and speculations about what would happen to the heroes now. Angela didn't know, but Mercy had a good idea what to do with that Valkyrie suit locked away in a bulletproof trunk in the boot. It was a prototype still, and also all she was taking with her. Torbjorn had begged her to leave it with him, but she had refused. It was something to display and remember the days of being a team by.

Or something to fasten herself into if the need arose, without the UN suspecting a thing. She could do that, she was positive.

Such fantasies were all that kept her company in the silence, filled only with their breathing and the sound of the engine. Outside she was sure it was noisy and colourful and wonderful, but the stuffy car made it hard to believe. There wasn't even air con.

“Are you alright Mercy?”

The politician used her codename as a vote of confidence maybe, or an insult. She couldn’t really tell and quite honestly she didn't care anymore. Let him call her what he would, it didn't change who she was. An ex hero with more talent and experience than most doctors she knew, and she knew many - enough for her to be confident in her abilities at the least. Some might even say arrogant and she would accept it.

And maybe she was, because she was not weak enough to cry in front of this little man.


	5. Chapter 5

Broken bones and split skin were easy to repair. Maybe a little too easy, but then, Angela was after all a first class medic. She had been doing this for many years, although her usual patients spoke at least one of the languages she had learned and her assisting staff back home were only too happy to run and get her strong black coffee when she requested it.

But working out of a small hospital in Asia was a new experience, and if her life had taught her anything it was that she should try to experience everything she could while she could. Plus, working alongside doctors she didn’t already know, even if they often deferred to her despite their experience, proved to be both entertaining and refreshing.

She was just glad some of them had taken the time to learn English, like she had, otherwise they might have to resort to sign language or failing that wild hand gestures.

It had been on a break that she’d received the message that had made her heart leap and her breath catch in her throat. The room was filled with her temporary colleagues – although the hospital hoped she might stay with them for some time – chatting in their own languages. Not many spoke to her while they weren’t working, but she didn’t mind. She didn’t understand most of what she overheard, just a few simple words she had picked up in the weeks she’d worked here, but it was all background noise as she stared at her phone.

“Dr Zeigler? Is something the matter?” one of the men asked. Hirotashi, was looking at her with worry in his dark eyes as she stared at the screen of her mobile, the red and amber light pulsing and lighting up her face slightly.

At his voice she’d snapped out of her trance and looked up. Nodding distractedly she rose to her feet, Hirotashi respectfully doing the same. He was a senior surgeon, and had been training under her for almost a week – he reminded Angela of a small puppy. Excusing herself with a polite bow she hurried away, double and triple checking the picture on her screen in case she was seeing things.

Even she was worried. Had the pressure of her job finally broken her?

Alone, shut in a vacant office room for privacy, she started trying to think about it logically. Her heart was still racing, and seemed to pick up tempo each time she glanced at the device in her hands. The Overwatch logo glared up at her, urging her to make her decision. It was before her in black and white, demanding an answer – accept or decline.

After how she had parted with the other members of Overwatch almost a decade ago, telling them she wasn’t sure she could have stayed much longer anyway, she had been certain she would never have to make this choice. Why would they even want her back after she’d implied they deserved what they got? She could still remember the hurt on Lena’s face when she’d said that.

But here it was, accept or decline the call back to arms. Overwatch was being recalled and whether it was by the will of the UN or not it didn’t matter. She had given up on the politicians years ago.

Her fingertip hovered over decline.

After all, the group had done some terrible things since helping to end the first omnic crisis. Of course she had heard all about the second starting and spreading from London in the UK all the way to the USA. It was only a matter of time before it hit them here. The fighting had already reached Zurich. That was part of the reason she’d agreed to leave. Too many memories of the war already.

And now new memories of one person she hardly knew anymore. The golden eyes had glared at her from every leaked mission report, skin blue and probably cold to the touch. She remembered Amélie’s touch so well, but now she was more likely to find hands tight around her throat than in her hair or on her cheek. Angela hated that she thought her as beautiful as ever, even after what Talon had done to her. What they had turned her into. 

Shaking her head she glowered down at her phone. It was unfair to spring this on her. Angela had made up her mind. Overwatch hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed them as a child, doctors and medics and social services had been. At least she could be here when the fighting began and do her part.

The door opened.

“Dr Zeigler, you left your...” Hirotashi began, holding out a small pocket notebook and pen in his hand, “You don’t look okay, Doctor.” His eyes focused on the phone clutched in her shaking hands and the sweat beading on her forehead. He was a brilliant doctor, noticing physical signs was part of the job.

Angela grinned despite herself. “An old friend asked me for help. I don’t know if I should get involved again.”

Hirotashi understood and closed the door behind him, walking to where Angela was standing and dropping the notebook onto the office desk. “It’s up to you. How badly do they need you?” Angela thought about it. She really wasn’t sure. She had done her part, sure, but so had everyone. And if she didn’t turn up they could find someone else to play hero on the front lines in her place. She shrugged and leant back against the desk. The cool wood beneath her hands was oddly soothing.

“Well, if you don’t mind me saying, they might not need Angela Zeigler.” Angela looked up warily. “They might need Mercy.” Hirotashi was at least five years younger than Angela, and he had likely grown up with stories and videos of Overwatch and it's members. The world knew who she really was, she had been kidding herself when she’d left and assumed it would be different.

Most people just hadn’t said it outright to her, but then she avoided most people.

But maybe he was right. Maybe Overwatch really did need her, not the doctor but the so-called hero. The Valkyrie. Bringing life and death where it was needed. Her hand had been salvation or release for so many, both in and out of hospitals, but it was with Overwatch she had truly felt like she was making a difference to the world. “You might be right. They don’t need a surgeon. But they might need me.”

Hirotashi beamed at her like an excited child. He would have been in college or university when she’d first taken to the field. Knowing this and watching his reaction almost brought tears to her eyes, but she held her emotions back. She had forgotten the effect a hero could have on someone, and even if she wouldn’t call herself a hero there were many who would. She couldn’t leave here, not yet, but soon she could.

Taking a deep breath, Angela – Mercy – hit accept.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Any feedback is greatly appreciated - I've never written a fic this angsty before XD  
> If there are any tags you think I'm missing just let me know, they'll be updated as more chapters come in too
> 
> And if you wanna yell about Overwatch with me I'm on tumblr now too! ;)


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